Black Forest
by Dark Austral
Summary: Even amongst the souls of the monsters, Dean finds himself feeling almost at home in the damp woods of Purgatory.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own any of these character, just playin in the Kripke sandbox.

_A/N:_ Hi everyone! Well I'm back after a very long, dry spell. A shout-out to gr8read for helping in getting the creative juices going to write a story set in Purgatory. Hope you guys enjoy the ride while waiting for the new season to begin.

**Black Forest**

It's not the monsters. Not at first. In the beginning Dean's terrified of what creatures are lurking behind red eyes or bone-chilling howls. Knowing he is behind enemy lines, far deeper than in Hell makes him feel like a wide-eyed eight-year old boy learning what his dad truly did for a living. Yet like all things, Dean takes a deep breath and forces himself to view it as another hunt, a long never ending hunt. It's just like back home, he chants at the end of each 'day', something else to watch out and deal with one problem at a time.

No, it's not the souls of monsters from eons past that make him pause. It's Purgatory. This new place, this dimension is unlike her sisters.

Hell is full of harsh colors, full or iron and metal. Full of sharpness and agony, Hell cracks, pulses and oozes sulfuric suffering. Nothing's clear, just a mind numbing haze of red and black. In the thick air, slithering smoke forms fight amongst the fissures of the damned.

Heaven's the opposite, no surprise there. With HD picture perfect clarity, memories play in continuous repeat. Sharp in brightness and contrast, Heaven vibrates blazes and morphs. Like a never ending diamond, everything's illuminated in a pleasant wash of white and blue. In the clear wind, bands of lights stand guard against the golden gates of the blessed.

Purgatory though.

She heaves. She rumbles. She's organic, a place of cracking wood and whispering groans.

Even the endless sterile world of the fairies is nothing like this. Purgatory shifts, grows and dies. She's always moving, never staying the same for long. The once thought endless nights burn away into blinding days. There are seasons, times when creatures Dean's never heard of or can even imagine lavish in their time. The most dangerous times are dusk and dawn when all come out to play.

Like any lover, Purgatory teases her residents. The ground swells. The trees grow taller, their branches like claws into the skies. Rivers flood over. It snows, rains, sleets and everything in between. Purgatory is a place of testing elements and unsure ground. It's a place that Dean realizes he can't trust. Home, he never had to think, never had any doubt that Earth would always have his back. Sure sometimes he lost his footing or there would be a road block.

But here, amongst the claws and fangs Dean finds himself eyeing the ground and trees around him. Purgatory keeps changing. None of the rules apply. Sure gravity still works, but not for the souls of the winged creatures that dance in fierce dog fights. Any time, any where, Purgatory reveals to Dean a place that is seething in hurt and rage.

She's not happy.

Trees bend in the quiet wind, leaves rustling, bark creaking like an old rocking chair. There's a faint clattering of rocks trickling down a nearby cliff. Dean huddles deeper into the tiny hovel between a tree and a boulder. A splash signals a creature launching itself, a yelp of joy at finding its prey. Dean swallows, as high-pitched cackles from the rest of the pack fill the air. It's not the monsters say green eyes bright with fear as they snap to the right when the whip-like crack of a branch kills one of the joyful howls into a whimpering dying breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So that new promo for season 8...so excited.

**Chapter 2:**

Dean crouches behind a cluster of boulders. Next to him are a few bushes full of dark green leaves. The bushes would provide more cover but Dean spots the branches littered with tiny thorns and doesn't want to take his chances. He's learning. And right now, there's another lesson unfolding a few feet away from the creek he had been hoping to sip a drink from. Peering through the tiny crevice, he sees a tiny glimpse of some hills off in distance. If he can get to higher ground, he can at least get some vague sense of what he's dealing with or better yet a way out. It's a start. It's a goal.

As the growling and snapping of jaws continues, Dean sighs. Whatever those creatures are, they're taking their sweet time. Huddling down for the 'night', Dean curls as close to the boulders as he can within the tiny patch of space he found. He's got walls on either side leaving only the open sky above him. It's good for now, even though he can barely move, not to mention the tight confinement is making his aching shoulder pulse in pain. Biting his lip, Dean runs his shaking fingers through his grimy hair, alcohol withdrawal keeping its hooks deep in him.

He was stupid in those first few hours…days, he can't recall anymore. Running till he ran out of breath. Then dehydration kicked followed by the twisted cramps as his body and mind yearned for just a sweet trickle of whiskey. He had been fool, an idiot, a chicken running around with his head cut-off.

All it took was a snap of a log and the ground bended as he went flying down a steep incline, slamming into trees and rocks. Coming to a grunting halt, the pop of his arm had sent blazing pins of fire shooting through him. Blinking back tears and inhaling a scream, Dean's last thought had been Sam as darkness drowned him in black ink.

The wet slick of a something had snapped Dean awake. Above him a snake the size of a suburban reared back, its two forked tongues flickering in the air, the joy of an ease kill shining behind yellow eyes. Kicking out, the snake whipped a few inches back. Scrambling, his dislocated shoulder screaming and a headache pounding away, Dean reached behind him grasping at empty air realization sinking in that he must have lost his gun when he took the tumble.

Sensing his shock, the silver streaked snake seemed to laugh as it coiled upwards, its massive jaws unhinging. Pushing himself onto his feet, Eyes flashing widely around him, he tried to find a weapon that would kill the beast if only temporarily. But then something odd happened. Just as his hand swiped up a rock, spinning back to face the monster, Dean halted in mid-throw as the snake's heard jerked right, its jaw snapping shut as it caught whiff of something. A jagged smile darkened its putrid yellow eyes to golden. In a flash, it slithered back into the forest, forgetting its injured meal for something even better.

The clattering of rocks raining down pulled Dean out of his memory. Smacking himself mentally, he holds his breath hoping to God that whatever was having its meal by the creek hadn't decided to do some rock scrambling. Minutes pass and Dean releases his breath slowly. Tilting to the right, he rubs his still dislocated shoulder. There hadn't been time; he only took off once more not taking a chance that the snake might change its mind. He didn't stop till he heard the trickle of water over rocks.

Idiot, his dad yells in his head. First rules of survival, kid. Stay Calm, find water, then shelter and lastly food. Don't go barreling head first, gun cocked without getting your bearings.

Fingers digging into his jacket, Dean glares daggers at the bloody half-moon. "_Cas_," his mind whispers, "_Need_ _your help here buddy_." Nothing, just silence like usual, well minus the bone crunching sounds. Cursing Cas, God, Roman and Crowley nine ways to Hell Dean pushes down the sinking feeling that he's truly alone in this. Anger swells in him. Well fine, he had been alone in Hell and he survived, so this was nothing.

He's just gotta find a way to get back to Sam.

Wadding up the collar, Dean bites down on the fabric fighting back a gag as the grime fills his mouth. Easing up slightly, he lines up his hands onto his shoulder, takes a deep breath and slams down into the boulder.

A few feet away next to the creek, a pack of red-eye wolves enjoy their meal. Yet one hears a tiny rattle of rocks and what sounds like a whimper of pain. Ears perking towards the cluster of boulders, it creeps towards where the sounds came from. Tilting its nose, it swears it smells something odd, something fresh, not old and dead like everything else in this place. Lowering down slightly, the wolf rears back ready to pouch onto the top boulder when something stronger catches its attention. Behind, its pack mates sense it too. A memory of being somewhere tight, somewhere not here floats like a hazy dream. Curiosity pulls the wolf away from the boulders. With a single bark, the pack runs down the shore of the river leaving behind a quivering, thirsty human to pull himself out of hiding and stumble towards the water.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Just a playin with these characters.

A/N: Sorry for the long break, work just sucks the creative juices away but that premier lite the spark right away.

Chapter 2

Ghouls: foul-smelling, foul-looking, foul in every sense in the word. Slamming into a rotted-out log, dirt and wooden flakes raining down, Dean coughs back a sneeze. He barely has time to blink away the sting of debris in his eyes when a steel boot slams into his gut kicking him all the way through the ancient stump.

Rolling onto his back, Dean slashes out with his knife blindly. It does no good. The head ghoul slams down, pinning his arm to the ground. Coughing, Dean glares up at the ghoul while two smaller ones flank him.

They're tall, lean creatures with leather skin, eyes sunken in so deep that it looks like tiny black pools giving off the tiniest shine of quicksilver. Their ears are thin almost translucent, small little things but wide and flat enough to pick up on the tiniest of sounds like a heart beat. The nose is flat, the nostrils flaring when the older male takes a deep whiff, his chapped lips cracking and bleeding into a smile. "Winchester."

Dean gulps as his heart drops. Crap. Crap and double crap. He knew one of these days his luck was going to run out and he'd run into a creature he had killed back on Earth. Knew that he was surrounded by enemies and things he's only read about in books. It was like Hell in that sense, falling so deep into enemy territory. But there, he was a prisoner locked in the shackles of the Pit before he gave into enjoying the taste of blood and fear he could strike into his own victims. But here, there was no Alistair, no one to offer him a way out, a way to escape the horror.

It was just him and monsters in a kill or be killed situation that offered no reprieve.

And wouldn't it be great for Cas to show his cowardly hide just once.

The youngest of the three ghouls laughs, its toothless gums bathed in black, "Not so much the great Dean Winchester nowadays huh." The soul shook its body, its' skin cracking in pieces to reveal patches of a young man who still haunted Dean's mind with screams from the Cage.

Dean felt a name fall that he didn't dare say around Sam. "Adam."

The ghoul that pretended to be the youngest Winchester chuckles completing the transformation into the youngest Winchester, "I'm going to so have fun bashing your brains in, Dean."

Dean flickers his eyes to the other two, realizing that the oldest was the one his own father killed back in the day. Great, not only did it include his and Sam's kills but now his dad's as well. Fantastic.

Leering back, the ghoul family relishes in taking their final revenge. Dean waits, his body already tensing with adrenaline. It's becoming automatic; the adrenaline rush never seeming to ebb away. The moment the boot lifts off his arm, Dean's leg slashes out with a quick kick between the legs of the elder ghoul before driving upwards and burying his knife deep into the throat. The father goes howling backwards, crashing down onto his knees gurgling out his final breaths. Flinging himself up and to the side, Dean throws sand and stone into the fake Adam's eyes before delivering a punch to the female ghoul's face, wrapping an arm around her neck. Twisting around, he hears the snap of her neck, dropping the body of a soul.

Adam snarls lunging at him, fists flying. He doesn't have much time before the other two rejoin the act. Blocking the punches, Dean fights back with everything, muscles burning. He had just taken a mere five minute break, just a little nap before he got pounced. He's tired and just wants to close his eyes for one single moment. The ghoul rams a fist right into the shoulder he had dislocated snapping him back to present. The punch sends Dean tumbling into a bush, its curved stripped thorns scratching deep into his hands and face.

Snarling out something that sounds too animalistic, he flies upward ramming into the young ghoul throwing him straight into the jagged remains of the log. Keeping one arm pinned on the slim ghoul, using all his body weight to stay on top, Dean's free hand searches wildly before grabbing onto a rock. With déjà-vu washing over him, Dean slams the rock hard into fake Adam's head. He tries to fight back the emotions, the hurt of his father having another son, the jealously of living a normal life. With each smash, flashes of the first time flood him in time with each contact, of Sam tied to the table bleeding out, of finding Adam's mutilated corpse. Adam, with those blue eyes looking up at him in surprise and hope, of him screaming out as Michael swooped down to claim his vessel, of still being locked in the cage with two rampaging archangels.

A crack is born on the metal box buried deep in the hunter. A raw scream erupts out of Dean as he slams the rock one more time onto a barely recognizable face. Panting, he throws the dark red rock away, pushing himself weakly onto his feet. Turning, he fights back a wave of nausea forcing his legs to keep moving. Falling into a jog, Dean runs till the ground turns from a pine riddled blanket to soft moss. Shaking his head, Dean feels a cold-sweat wash over him, a black haze tugging at his vision.

Blinking down, he comes to a stop taking the bleeding scratches from the torn bush. An almost red rash is spreading from his wounds, almost whispering along his veins. Shaking his head, Dean finds himself muttering, "Poison…great." Weaving back, he swears he sees Sam running towards him but by the next blink, some large horned creatures knocks him hard into a pile of weak moss his head slamming into a hidden rock. Hooves trample over him and he swears he hears something snap. Coughing up blood, he screams out for the one being he despises and cares about before darkness falls over him.

* * *

It's a familiar electric buzz of being set back into place that jolts him into a hazy existence. His skin itches from the after effects of the poison, his mouth dry with the cracking of wanting something to drink, like the sharp burn of whiskey. Turning a stiff neck, he remembers vaguely of being side winded and trampled and thinks for a heart-stopping moment that he's dead. Wonders if he'd be stuck here for all eternity and become like all the other creatures here in this place, ponders what has become of Sam.

But he knows what being dead feels like and this pounding in his head is all too real. There's a rustle of cloth and he blinks back the white dots to make out the outline of someone he thought left him.

Cas crouches nearby, his coat is matted in blood and muck, his once white slippers almost pitch black. His back is turned to Dean slightly but the hunter can make out the wide blue eyes scanning the forest around them. His thin fingers are fidgeting over his ghoul tainted knife. The angel's edgy voice comes out in a whisper he barely hears. "I can't stay." There's guilt dragging the raven head down, a numb look falling over his pale features. It's a look that Dean recognizes, knows all too well when he stared at himself in the mirror after coming back from Hell.

"I have to go. It's too dangerous. I can't stay." It's the insane ramblings of a fallen angel and Dean feels his heart tighten.

Reaching out, blood crusted fingers ghost over worn out fabric. Whiteness drowns him and when it finally recedes, Cas is right in front of him, that old breach personal space so suffocating familiar. Mentally, Dean swears he must be dreaming because the angel finally looks like his old self again, that righteous quiet, stubborn determination hardened his face.

Those blue eyes are no longer wide but narrowed with conviction and power. It's a look he remembers when Chucks' house was rattling and the wrath of an arch-angel was bearing down. It's that look of a soldier.

"Be careful Dean." It's an order, a final command, a knife placed on his chest.

And like that he's gone with the barest of a breeze. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean feels his fingers curl into the dirt, feeling the pebbles jam under his nails, the moist stickiness of the moss spilling out. Taking in deep breaths, he fights to keep his anger and hurt buried.

He's utterly alone. He knew it before but there was always this tiniest bit of hope. Now though, Dean feels that cold knowledge that if he calls, Cas won't come. Well screw this. He isn't some hopeless human; he's just still trying to get his bearings. Propping up on his elbows, Dean gaze falls on a bush, with those long curved thorns etched sticking out with deadly sharpness. Around him something cracks followed by with a heavy thump of a tree falling. A cold northern wind skitters across the ground, kicking up dead leaves.

Face hardening, Dean comes to a decision blinking back the dots and wiping his hand along blood matted hair. He tried running around for a quick escape followed by laying low and avoiding any conflict if necessary. And nothing has worked out. Tucking away the knife, Dean licks his lips before leaning forward. Crawling on his knees, he thinks screw waiting around or stumbling around in the big bad forest. If Cas wasn't going to come to him than he'd hunt him down. Drag him by his stupid trench coat and get them out of here. He wasn't going to lose Cas to that darkness he saw in those eyes, not when he just got him back. And he wasn't going to get eaten by some rapid monster. Cas and him were going to get out of here, find Sam and go take a damn vacation. Reaching the bush, he raises his shirt and rips a part of his shit off before reaching out to start plucking off the thorns.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Don't owe sadly.

**A/N:** Well here's the next installment :) Enjoy!

**Chapter 4**

Time slips away. The first sunrise almost blinds Dean. It takes a few minutes crouching near the ground in a small clearing on top of a mound, arms raised over his face for his eyes to feel like they're no longer burning. Squinting, he takes in various shades of purple streaking across the sky. There's the rolling hills overlapping each other with blue hues the faintest dusting shadows of trees. It's a cold beauty and for a moment Dean thinks that it's one of the most beautiful pure things he's ever seen.

For a moment, he lets himself break away and enjoy the moment. The deadly pristine of Purgatory caresses his weathered face with sharp little daggers of ice. She hovers so briefly between the black hearted night and white veined day. Parting his lips, Dean stands there still as a statue soaking up the eerie calmness. Blinking, he feels a shift in him, something shutting down while another part awakens. Inhaling deeply, he tastes the wetness of water, the tinge of blood, the chalk of rot. He watches with simple eyes, his nose and tip of his ears turning red as cuts of orange-red slash into the sky.

The sun rises, the faint yet harsh rays slicing through the trees. Off in the distance, a dark cloud erupts into the sky. Breaking his gaze towards the cloud, Dean snaps out his trance reality sinking hard and fast into his stomach. The chiming of limbs is almost as if Purgatory is giggling at thinking that this little human thought it was beautiful here. Narrowing his eyes, Dean notices that the cloud is flying against the wind, realization dawning on his face on how fast the cloud is moving towards him, the tale-tail hints of wings and long tails screaming one word to his mind.

Dragons.

Without a moment to spare, Dean dashes down the tiny hill and back into the darkness of the dense woods. Just as his brown jacket slips away from the light, does a ray from the sun break free, the piercing blue-white curling in and around itself. The long being twists as if almost laying itself open to the world. The dragons spot the opening, banking like a flock of crows towards the light. Distraction obtained, the light almost seems to hug into itself as if curling wings before launching off into the distance, the dragons giving chase.

* * *

Dean wipes the sweat from his brow, feeling exposed out in the day-light despite being crouched right alongside the tree-line. To his left is a small meadow, overgrown with thin tall grass that sliced his clothing into thin paper cut tears. Running his thumb over the rim the bone handle of his knife, he shifts staring at the cluster of needles before his boots.

A faint crack of a twig and Dean fights to keep himself still, to appear to be unaware. He's been waiting for a while, letting himself bleed in order for some creature to catch a whiff of blood. His palm aching from the swallow cut, Dean counts down, honing his ears to take in each light step of some monster inching closer and closer.

He waits till there's the slight huff of a snout. One millisecond and he could die here. But he won't. He's going to get Cas, get out of here…get to Sam. First Cas. Closing his eyes, Dean takes a breath, clearing his mind of everything.

First Cas.

Gotta find Cas.

He lunges left right as slim form flies by. He feels its faded clothes of what looks like some frilly French 17th century get-up. Boots skid along the dry ground halting his body into a quick stop. His left hand launches himself forward as the right one flicks his knife flush with his forearm. The creature stares up at him through long grimy blond locks, golden cat-like slits flashing in surprise.

Dean slices quick and fast, knowledge of where exactly the most pain can be caused with the smallest of slices burning with clarity. Wrestling with the creature, Dean swears he tastes sulfur on his tongue as he pins the monster to the ground. Towering over the creature lays still, those golden orbs fixed up at him with fearful anger.

"Where's Cas?" Dean's voice is tight as he tries to keep the tense situation in his court. One false move and he'll be this cat's cat-nip.

"I'll kill you," sneers the monster through a row of fangs.

"Not today," Slicing deep and upwards along the chest, Dean stops short of reaching the jugular. "Now, where's Cas? He's a man in a tan trench-coat, white scrubs, black hair and blue eyes."

The monster laughs, as if all its wounds mean nothing to it. "You smell like a human, though its been awhile since I've seen one. Mmmm, come to think of I miss the taste of human flesh."

Dean realizes in soaking in that long sinister smile that this creature isn't taking him serious. That nothing here will take him as a threat. He'll be the human, the weaker species that can't defend itself. That is the number one special on the menu.

Taking in a deep breath, he fights to remember that cold clarity of the sunrise. "_It's all about simplicity, my boy_," an old familiar voice hums in the back of his mind. And it clicks, the sunrise and why he stopped, this place in general…the rules. It's all simple. Black and white. Monster. Human. Hunter. Hunted. Simple.

Something dark rumbles deep within him and Dean remembers the last time he let it out to play. Remembers the worried, borderline scared looks Sam sent his way when he plowed through every demon searching for Lisa and Ben. Tilting the blade upwards and letting it skim just deep enough to let blood trickle out, he makes it trek up the neck and stop just below the chin.

Eyes narrowing into slits, Dean lets his lip curl into a tight smirk. "The angel." He can barely recognize his voice, so steadfast with a dark promise. It works. The creature pauses as if sensing the change that this isn't some regular old human.

Knowing now that he has a captured audience, Dean lets the sulfuric words fall out of his mouth. "Tell me where the angel is or I'm going to show you just what this little human can do."

In the end, Musketeers reject didn't know anything. Without sparing a glance at the remains, Dean cups his shaking blood-stained hands close to his body, hugging the knife near the warmth of his chest. Walking pointlessly in the direction he was facing, Dean is only able to make it a few trees down before he collapses on his knees and throws up. It's barely anything, the nerves making his stomach twist in unimaginable knots.

He lost it. He knows that and vowed to himself to never go down that path again. But it is the only way. The only way to survive in this never-ending chase, to create a picture of something he's not suppose to be rifled with. He never told Sam but one of the reasons he enjoyed torturing was the mere fact he or Alistair just had to say his name and his next victim was quaking. No need to prove himself over and over again or deal with any sass or opposition. They knew who he was and what he was capable of and it was addictive having that power.

Sam. Guilt swells in Dean that he barely hears the nearing cackles of what sounds like hyenas. Sam would be disappointed, chew him out for giving in. But he wouldn't understand, can't and doesn't need to know. Swallowing down, Dean tilts his head pained eyes taking in the dark-skinned cluster of the next batch of monsters tearing into the remains as if it was a feast. "Sorry Sam."

Pushing Sam out of his mind, shaking loose his guilt, Dean slowly rises onto his feet. He can't think like that, not anymore. In fact, he can't even imagine Sam in his head. It's dangerous and he needs to survive. Needs to find Cas. Yeah, that's it.

One of the monsters looks up, its black eyes shining in joy alongside the bright red smile.

Find. Cas. Focus on that. Let everything else go.

Keep. It. Simple.

"_Hear that Cas_," Dean prays silently, "_I'm going to hunt you down_." Simple. Enough to calm his nerves, to settle the guilt back down.

Pure and simple.

High pitch sniggering creeps into his ears. Face hardening, Dean pivots and bolts between the trees, feets running fast and sure as the pack give chase to even fresher meat.


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N: **_I feel bad for this chapter taking so long. But it's here finally. And despite how this season is going great, I'm starting to miss Puragatory XD_

**Chapter 5:**

Time flies by when fighting to stay alive, to survive in constant 360 combat with tiny respites in between. It's in those deathly pauses that Dean builds towering walls of sandbags in his mind to stop himself from drifting. Of thinking about how Sam would be geeking out when Dean had to camp out in a tree for hours while some monsters below chattered in an old foreign language like a couple of old women. Or Sam's voice snipping at him at how stupid he was for tackling the werewolf or island hopping thru a marsh just to loose a pack of kitten-like creatures. In his defense, they were adorable looking at first, like tribbles from Star Trek. Small found balls of fluff with tiny ears, beady eyes and button noses. He'd never saw anything like back on Earth and felt a wave of warmth flood him, beckoning him to come closer. But then the spell broke and they swarmed over a 'dead' carcass like those tiny dinosaurs from Jurassic Park II and Dean thought 'no thank you'. And sometimes it was simply just an image of Sam flashing his bitch face at him when a dark thought would cross his mind.

So he keeps building the walls, keeps his focus to the woods. He's stuck here. There is no getting out. He remembers the lore, remembers how Bobby said that Elanore said they should be thankful that she fell through the cracks. A one way door like the Hotel California but then he'd see a flash of pride on Sam's face when he found a loophole. Those dimples right there along side the ridiculous long hair. Sam would find a way, he'd be looking for him and Cas. In Hell, Dean remembers screaming for his brother but deep down he was glad Sam didn't do anything to pull him out. He was resigned to that fate, but not this. And Sam would know that.

A ruguru sideswipes him, slamming hard into a tree. _Stop thinking about Sam_. Once the creature has a stake thru its chest, Dean wipes away the sweat and blood, sending out the latest prayer to Cas, picturing them like messages in bottles or a trail of breadcrumbs for the angel to find his way back to him. Cause Cas always comes back, always finds a way to show up in Dean's life when he least expects it.

Wiping his hands semiclean onto his jacket, Dean trudges forward reinforcing his wall. _Don't think about Sam. It'll get him killed. Don't think about Sam _running an endless loop in the back of his mind. The focus snaps back, hunter clarity searing his veins. With a crack of his knuckles, Dean hikes further along the ridged backbone of some ancient mammoth that's molded into the ground.

* * *

There's no sense of time anymore. The only passage is the gap between encounters and the last time he prayed to Cas. The sun rises and sets. It actually rains here, pouring ice-cold rain yet it remains warm so it doesn't turn into snow. It hovers at the brisk dampness that reminds him of fall. The next day, it would heat back up and his clothes dry to a caked cripsness, the sun bursting thru the clouds. A harsh light washinng everything in sharp contrast till the night sweeps it away and the distorted voices of past friends and family echo in the towering skyscrapers of the woods.

It's windigo territory and Dean claps his hands hard over his ears watching his boots march in front of each other. He keeps walking, keeps singing in his head that Sam isn't here. That Sam is back on Earth safe and sound as he can be with the Leviathans and…no can't think of Sam, can't be distracted. Can't…

The thin wiry frame of one those damned creatures steps in front of him and something in Dean snaps. All he sees for a brief flash of red and Alistair laughing all the way. Once the film clears, chest heaving, blood dripping down his arms, the squish of something popping under his boots, Dean tilts his head to the right taking in gangly form of another windego who stands stock still, eyes wide in shock...or is it fear?

"Where's. The. Angel?" a low growl crawls out his throat and Dean finds himself daring that creature to answer in Sam's voice just so he'll have an excuse to slice one more time. And the tiniest part of him can't register that this is him, that the animalistic sound was his voice.

This windigo though is smarter and bolts off deep Purgatory, leaving the trembling human alone for the moment in the dead silence forest.

* * *

It's during a break, when Dean's hunkered down running his blade along the smooth side of a rock loosing himself in the motion of sharpening while his ears are tuned to every sound that it dawns on him.

His hands aren't shaking no more. His throat no longer burns for the need of liquor. He's clear-headed and his body feels fit, like a finely tuned violin. He's buzzing with energy even though his body is still and his breath is measured between the scraps. He blinks and sees faintly his baby, her black body gleaming. He inhales and can faintly recall the hot sizzle of a juicy burger. His body twists ever slightly and he tries to remember what it feels like to sit on a bed, much less a chair.

Dean pauses, fighting not to think about a little brother. Licking his lips, he runs this thumb along the edge, pleased with the sharpness. He's getting comfortable here, getting into a routine. It's almost like Hell again where he's losing himself in this place, feels it seeping into his pores and deep down into his very being. It should scare him, but it doesn't. He has a mission to fullfill, has to find the angel with piercing blue eyes and a dirty trenchcoat.

Rolling his shoulders, Dean acknowledges the fact that he's starting to feel at home and in the total opposite end of the meaning. Home is suppose to be safe, a place of relaxation and love. But he'd been kidding himself; home hasn't meant that since he came back from Hell. Home is constant moving, constant death and blood and grime. Home resides in the comfort that Alistair carved him into a new creature that could breathe freely here without condemnation. It's simple...pure...

Raising his eyes, he takes in the red orbs of those gorilla wolves that first greeted him. There's not a flicker of fear on his face, just a blank expression. Slowly lowering his hands, Dean sends out a pray to the angel, "_If you can hear me, facing our good ol' greeting party, just to let you know if you want to come by and say hi…or not_."

On the second blink, he flies to the right as the wolf lunges at him.

* * *

It isn't till he meets Benny, hears that vampire say "maybe you've gone native. Maybe you like being man-meat for every Tom, Dick and Harry" that it strikes him how hard he's become. How he's falling back, how he's forgetting almost what it means to be human. How it's not normal for him not to be hungry, thirsty or needing sleep. How when talking to something you don't growl and hold a knife to their neck.

Native.

It's jarring and Dean tightens his hold on the smooth bone. He's not that far gone yet…is he…?

Then he remembers the words before. A way out, for humans only. It's too great to ignore, to throw to the curb and slice the vampire's head off. The vampire tilts his head waiting for his answer and it's a punch to his gut. That's right, Dean remembers hazily. After the mission, after finding Cas he was going to find a way out, find a way to S-

No. The wall trembles slightly but holds fast.

Find the angel first. Then he'll deal with this information and this supposedly new ally.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Spring fever is starting to kick in and what can I say I miss Benny, so glad I can at least write him now :) Enjoy!

**Chapter 6**

"So, what's your name?"

"Music any good?"

"What's the other side like nowadays?"

"You ever been on a boat? Seen the open sea?"

* * *

"What is with you and this angel? From what I hear through the grapevine, he's got a yellow streak a mile wide and left you hanging high and dr—"

A burst of stars, the air rushing out of his lungs and Benny finds himself perched on the edge of a black blade with the dark-eyed human staring down at him with a cold fury. Lifting his hands from the wet ground, the vampire flashes his pearly whites. "Easy there, friend, just trying to start up a conversation."

"How about you shut the hell up," sneers the human, his shoulders tense while the blade scraps gently against his throat. "You don't need to know anything, except if you help me find the angel I'll let you hop a ride on the soul train."

"Fine, fine." Benny stays still as the human backs off of him with the ease of a coiled panther. Patting himself free of leaves and twigs, Benny rustles back onto his feet. "For a hunter, you sure are a bit trigger happy."

The human's face tightens, those green eyes flashing with wariness and the grimed fingers shift the bone handle lightly. Benny reaches down and picks up his own weapon, "I've met my share of hunters when I was alive and truth be told, no ordinary human could have survived as long as you did. Not a big leap in logic, friend."

"I'm not your friend."

Watching the hunter lead the way, Benny muttters under his breath, "Couldn't agree with you more."

* * *

Benny continues with his one-sided conversations. He never did like the empty air, even in a place like Purgatory were dropping your guard for one second could result in losing your head. Sighing, he closes his mouth trying hard not to smell that delicious heady warmth of actual human flesh and blood.

Keeping his ears peeked; Benny lets his gaze wander to the woods. He tries to remember what the other side was like, the moss covered willows and the smell of rice and crawfish cooking. To feel her slender arms wrap around his waist…

A snap and Benny yells out, arm lashing out instinctual to his left. The blade catches the crocodile skin monster right into the chest. With a twist, he's free and with a powerful stroke beheads the thing. Never saw that creature before. Spinning, Benny searches for the human. He can't let him die; he needs him alive to get back home. The human is kicking out all the while twisting between his own two attackers. He moves much like a dancer, quick and fast and deadly, not at all like other hunters he's run into. It's almost like this one was born into it, trained and molded to be a killing machine. For a second Benny finds himself wondering if he really should just shut-up.

One crocodile thing is down and the other is sneaking up behind the human. "Duck!"

The human thankfully knows how to follow orders, falling to his knees while his blade flies straight and true. The sharp edge finding its home deep in the chest of the last creature.

Rising up, the human eyes the monster with an odd distant look on his face. Walking past him, Benny yanks the blade free. "Don't even ask me what these things are; never saw them before in my life."

No response, but by now Benny's used to it. Wiping clean the silver blood, he nods towards the small trail they were on "Better keep moving before more of these things show up."

It's not even three steps when the vampire hears a growl announce with a tremor of uncertainty. "The name's Dean."

* * *

It's after the fifth attack by some hedgehog creature that it hits Benny. "You're a homing beacon of trouble, you know that."

Dean is plucking out tiny sharp quills that were embedded in his sleeve when the monster had flown right past the vampire to tackle the human from behind. Pausing, the human tilts his head upwards and looks squarely in his eyes. Time is slowly softening the hunter around him and he's no longer on pins and needles around him. Hell, he even got to find out that there are portable phones now called cells that you can carry around in your pocket. But trust, yeah not fully there yet.

"Is that so?"

Is that a snarky tone? Smirking, Benny sniffs the air. "You're human, live in the flesh. You don't smell of Death. Plus there's something unique about you…your soul or something like that…it's strong."

Something darkens behind those eyes and once more Dean closes off and he's left with the hunter. "What's that suppose to mean?" It's short, crisp and sharp.

Huffing, Benny walks up to Dean and pokes him lightly on his chest. "I'm dead, Dean. I don't see what you see, smell what you smell." He pauses before continuing, "It's your humanity that keeps attracting monsters I've never even heard or least seen. It's a rarity here and everyone wants a piece of the pie."

The silence hangs between them is stifling and Benny almost wants to smack himself for telling Dean this. But the hunter needs to know the truth, to know that he's the second sought after prey in this place, right below the angel.

Dean's opening his mouth and Benny braces for questions he knows he won't be able to fully answer when the vampires launch themselves from behind the trees and all he sees is black.

* * *

He comes too tied to a tree with two vampires flanking him, with another two a few inches away trying to restrain a struggling Dean. And before him is a vampire with dark curly hair rubbing his hands together.

"Well isn't this a surprise seeing you here." The large man cups his chin, twisted giggles falling out of his wetted lips. "I would have dreamed that those two hunters killed you but," he bends down taking a deep breath, "you smell human. I don't know how you went back to being human again and I don't care. You're going to pay for murdering my nest."

Benny blinks, shaking his head. Did he hear just right, Dean a vampire?

Dean just smirks, "Sorry to disappoint you, Boris, guess I just had too much self-restraint."

Boris hisses and slaps Dean hard across his face, "You ruined everything our Father had planned—"

Spitting out blood, Dean snaps back, "Please, the alpha knows when to cut his losses and you were one of his major ones."

Fury rages on Boris' face and Benny can't help but frown in confusion because what are those two talking about. Father? Alpha? Dean gloats not having a care that he one second away from having his throat ripped out. "That's right Curly, I meet Father," he spits out the word, "Twice actually and hell he even helped me take out the Leviathans. And you, you're nothing compared to him. You reigned in your terror by kidnapping boys and girls and throwing them into cages with no skill set. What I did was a mercy."

Rage roars out of Boris and he lunges down at Dean. But somehow the hunter rolls onto his back far enough to kick out squarely on Boris's face. One of the vampire's hold must have weakened because Dean breaks free thrusting a hidden knife right into its' throat. In a flash, Dean's got some long needles jutting out of the other vampire's throat, leaving it gurgling out foam on its knees. The last two fly forward but Dean's already got his obsidian weapon, bracing for the attack. In less than two minutes, a pair of headless corpses crumbles to the ground. Without breaking stride, Dean quickly beheads the other two before turning his full attention to Boris.

The leader hisses in some foreign tongue before spitting out, "I should have never turned you into one of us. You're nothing but a plague, a bane of existence."

Dean lets a dark smile spread across his face and Benny wonders what exactly he's dealing with. "You have no idea."

The fight is done in a blink of an eye. Dean just walks past the bodies, kneeling down next to Benny. With his knife, he slowly starts to cut away the ropes. Benny takes a deep breath and dares to ask, "You were a vampire?"

He doesn't expect an answer and is completely blindsided when Dean replies. "For a little while."

Something akin to hope flares in Benny, "But you found a way to go back…"

"Hm."

There's a snap and Benny knows that this is all he's going to get from Dean. Rubbing his wrists, he eyes the hand offered down to him. "Guess that makes us brothers, huh." And just as he's about to reach to take it, the hand pulls back and they're back to square one.

* * *

"Sparkly vampires?"

"Yeah, they're all the rage."

"That's just…I'd rather take my chances in the bayou with a witch doctor than…really?"

"It's no joke."

"I just can't believe you."

"Well when we get topside, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Right, right, after we find this angel of yours."

"Damn straight."


End file.
